This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.~
All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions. You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire. ~ There is no deadline on posting, you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.~Write and you are a writer.

Anesidora's heart was full of a fire and passion the world would never know. For her father was Stone and her mother was Ice and her genes predetermined the sunken face in her mirror. Her hair was white, her lips a deep lapis and her stare could freeze your blood. It was rumored that an unfortunate courtier had once brushed her flesh in passing and his heart stopped mid-beat.

Ane's days were lonely and long. No one had heard the alabaster princess speak in over a decade and so the villagers began whispering of a mute beauty who lived in a castle of ice...

If only the people could hear her singing behind those walls. Were they truly composed of snow and crystal, the walls would melt. Her voice was her fire, her words were of Spring and Anesidora was the key to the lush green fields and plentiful flora of the land.

The only price was her solitude. The only oath was her secrecy... so...

We were so very privileged to share with Leah this day posting each other's blogs and finding new friends to create with. Thank you to all the artists and writers for expressing their creativity.

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.

Truly beautiful art Leah. This is a very appropriate picture for me to see this morning. I have been living winter for the last week. After a major ice storm with no electric or internet I am very glad to be back!

The artwork to me reflects the blues whites and grays of winter and the fairyland feeling of the beauties of a cold crisp winter's day after a pristine snowfall yet undisturbed by a human presence.

Anesidora's heart was full of a fire and passion the world would never know. For her father was Stone and her mother was Ice and her genes predetermined the sunken face in her mirror. Her hair was white, her lips a deep lapis and her stare could freeze your blood. It was rumored that an unfortunate courtier had once brushed her flesh in passing and his heart stopped mid-beat.

Ane's days were lonely and long. No one had heard the alabaster princess speak in over a decade and so the villagers began whispering of a mute beauty who lived in a castle of ice...

If only the people could hear her singing behind those walls. Were they truly composed of snow and crystal, the walls would melt. Her voice was her fire, her words were of Spring and Anesidora was the key to the lush green fields and plentiful flora of the land.

The only price was her solitude. The only oath was her secrecy... so...

The lotus blossomed at her feet, and flowers surrounded her. Thistle, daisy, chrysanthemum. Tree branches stretched out their arms to envelope her, but she remained just out of their reach, pristine, cool, and dignified. Frozen sunlight danced through the morning air, splintering into prisms as she glided across the earth. A shadow-bird ruffled his feathers nearby, keeping watch over her shoulder. A woodland thrush chirrupped his perky greeting as he nestled in the loose leaves and twigs at her feet.

She was a striking image in the frozen landscape, bundled in her blue velvet bodice, warm beneath her long heavy wool skirt. Subdued, but festive, the blue-green accents on her charcoal skirt gave her a lively air, though her quiet respect for the land around her permeated her every step.

She breathed deeply of the morning air, letting its freshness fill the corners of her lungs. She exhaled, watching as the fog created by the warmth of her breath shone in the morning sun.

“The key to winter,” she had said to her husband, as she walked out the door, “is enjoying it while it is here.” She savored these days of brightness, of fresh snow and pastel twilight. She knew winter was a rare gift of sapphire, of frozen heat, and unacknowledged life.

Laura Jayne- I am so glad that you and Leah found each other! Both of you are favorites in my eyes...

I love Simply Heather's poem. Awesome!

Here is my attempt:

She Holds the Key to Winter

The barren branches dance with the opal mooncaressing her in a slowly choreographed stationarypas de deuxarms of a scratchy lover reaching round her middlebeckoning Luna closeto bask in her deep luminescentafterglow

You hold the key, they sayWhat is there to unlock? Luna asks with the hint of a smile.The trees in solitary confinementwhisper through their branchesSet us freeOpen our buds to the steel blue skyWe lie in waitdormantfor the day you release usfrom your frosty gaze,your distant touchWaiting for the day whenour roots thread the dirtgrasping all the earth has to offererupting in a crown of emeraldsto tickle the clouds and hide the birdsseeking sanctuary

She moves away from their driftwood fingersFeeling abandoned by the strong arms of Her silent sentriesYou don’t know me then, she saysYou don’t know what power I haveI leave you to wait in silent stillnesswhile you wonder why mygolden brotherhas abandoned you and when hewill return.

She moves awayTheir arms chase along the groundgrasping for her longing to touch her once againholding on to nothing but bittersweet dreams ofspring

She stood smiling waiting to turn the key. Only a few more moments and she would release it. She had waited all year for the return of winter. Longed for the opportunity to turn the key. Now she stood prepared to unleash it. The first snow of the winter.

Winter is icy blue. Winter is a tall, slim woman, sometimes wearing furs. Winter is a naked tree, a lone blackbird, a prime number. Winter is swirls of snowflakes. Winter is life buried below ground in the caverns, among the roots of trees. Waiting.

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